


A Monster Of My Own Creation

by Honey_Rae_Pluto



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Frankenstein - Mary Shelley, Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, Dark, Death, Inspired by Frankenstein, Love, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Sad, Sad Ending, Victorian Science Fiction, monster roger taylor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24677227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honey_Rae_Pluto/pseuds/Honey_Rae_Pluto
Summary: As the lightning flashes like a shot in the dark, a strange creature is brought to life in a dingy secret laboratory. Roger doesn't know what he is, all he knows is that he is the monster they warn children about.All Brian knows is that Roger is his monster.AKA the Frankenstein au no one asked for
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, thank you so much for taking a moment to read, it really does mean the world. There's more chapters still to come and hopefully I will be updating every three or four days.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments on the piece and am active on Tumblr as Honey-Rae-Pluto for any questions or chit-chat.
> 
> xxx

Pain flashed through his body suddenly and all at once. It was a new concept, everything was - it had never existed before.

He’d never had a body before. Or a conscious. Or a mind.

The pain made him sob, trying to curl in on himself; held by the wires and straps kept him pinned to the cold metal slab, the dirty white sheet covered his head and blocked his blurry vision. What he could see was vague, like a white shadow, swirling with colours he didn’t know yet, like drops of ink in water. Memories that were stolen told him what he was: wrong, not human. ‘Not yet’. Monster.

“Is… is it breathing?” A voice asked timidly, followed by a tapping and some footsteps making their way closer, “I can hear it, father, it’s breathing.”

The sheet was pulled away, his eyes still not able to focus. The room was bright, too bright. There was two figures, both quite tall, one seemed to be looming over him, but it was hard to tell.

“Will it understand?” the same figure asked, their cold hand touching his, “Will the brain remember?”

“There’s no telling.” The closer figure spoke with a colder voice, “Go, I don’t need your help, Brian, make sure the creature has a place to sleep.”

He could hear the person - Brian - leave, two slow footsteps followed by a tap, repeatedly, as he faded into nothing. He wondered how he knew what these things were, why he knew to wonder in the first place. Part of him felt like he’d woken up, a foggy memory not quite close enough but within sight. 

There were fragments: a flash of red, the smell of dust after rain, the feel of itchy woolen jumpers, the sound of windchimes, the taste of warm bread. But he didn’t feel they were his. Like looking through the mind of another and seeing only touches of who they were, tiny seconds of what they loved. He couldn’t remember anything before now. He couldn’t fathom a second before the pain-

“My creature,” The only man remaining greeted him, clammy warm hands grasping his face, “Can you answer me?”

He opened his mouth, taking a breath to talk, something felt natural about it, as if he’d done it before. The sound that came out was rough and oddly high pitched, painful too - running down his throat and lungs.

“I wouldn’t worry, the vocals came from a singer, gave quite the screech in the end,” The man told him, “There’s likely some straining that’ll wear off. The restraints are coming away, do not attack, that is an order.”

He didn’t know what that meant, was he perhaps violent? He didn’t remember being violent. The leather on his forehead and chest was undone, giving him some movement, weak as it was. He could barely lift his head, and when his arms were freed lifting them was difficult - laying limp and slouched now. He could wiggle his fingers, move his face a little, but there wasn’t much else.

He still didn’t know what to think about this. Everything was a blur, he didn’t know anything, and nothing he thought he might know - the memories and the vague instincts - seemed provable, like a fever dream where even that which lies beneath the haze is disorientated and wrong. 

By now his eyes were seeing a bit more, even if his head was more confused than ever. The room was white - or it had started out white (something told him the red stains weren’t decorative). There were gas lights around, hissing quietly under the tone of the large metal box by the bed. A theatre, he thought abstractly, a medical theatre; complete with the tray of sharp objects and tubes and wires, many of which were still connected to him.

“Spinal weakness,” The man seemed to note, reaching to fold the table slightly, forcing him into an upright position, “With some usage it should go too. Hearing seems good, but we’ll test everything.”

He made a noise again, jaw moving in a hopeless attempt to form a word. His head was drooped onto his shoulder, drool dripping onto his bare chest in his effort to speak. His eyes moved to look at the man, dressed as a doctor - white coat, it always seems like enough to say about a doctor. The coat was blood stained down the front, burnt on the sleeve, glasses snuggly in the breast pocket and watch chained through the buttons to the lower pockets. 

He had a pointed face that seemed blunt at the same time, like he knew he was right. Perhaps like he didn’t know he was wrong. The man unclipped something from his head; wires that connected him to the metal box, which in turn was linked to a frame that dangled out of the window getting battered by the storm outside.

It was then he realised what had just happened. What he was.

“You don’t know who I am, do you, creature? My name is Doctor Michael Urquart,” he finally introduced himself, turning the other’s head manually to see him, “I am your creator.”

***

“Darling? What happened? We heard the lightning,” Freddie held onto Brian’s elbow, guiding him carefully to the table, “I thought the monster wasn’t finished.”

“He needed more blood, the brain wouldn’t have survived much longer if it wasn’t done ton-”

“How much are you going to put into this? You’ve let Urquart take enough.” Freddie cut him off, “...I don’t think you’re getting better.”

“He’s all I have Fred,” Brian told him quietly, searching for his cup, “I was a cripple before him. I’d be dead, so would you.”

“And all those people would be alive,” the older man said pointedly, “And that monster wouldn’t have been created.”

“It’s not a monster, Fred, it feels human.”

“I wasn’t talking about it.”

That made sense. Brian didn’t comment further, Freddie would get argumentative and loud and then they’d be in no end of problems. He didn’t understand Freddie’s issue with it, John just did his job. It was morbid, granted, but he was an employee - it was his paid purpose. Not so much paid, actually, rather he had board and food and wasn’t reported for his now numerous crimes. John would likely be hung without a trail for what he’d done.

“I’ve to clear a cell of it,” Brian changed the subject, sipping carefully, “I’ll need you to get the linens and clothes for it, father says it needs to be kept warm now, just like us.”

“I’ll leave them on the bed for you,” Freddie didn’t comment on the use of ‘father’, Brian was too far gone for that argument, they all were. If he’d had any sense he would never have gotten involved. “Actually let me, you’re still too pale; he took too much out of you.”

Brian sighed gratefully, in all honesty he did want a lie down, a decent meal wouldn’t be bad either, but he had to be careful; his organs were failing - that’s what Urquart had told him. He was a frail boy, well man now, the kind doctor had taken him in as an infant and kept him alive for twenty years, raised him as a son. What more could he want?

He felt Freddie nudge him, time to go. Freddie just worked there, coming in to earn some money at first, he wasn’t allowed into the upstairs room. The doctor had said Freddie would be too delicate, although Brian felt it was more of an excuse. He stood up slowly, holding his cane in front of him, he’d likely have to go help with the tests later, but he could rest for now.

The rooms (cells according to the building's plans), were sparsely decorated to say the least. There were no radiators or fireplaces, then again the building was a complex so there could be no chimneys for the smoke or windows. It meant Fred and John’s habit of smoking pipes would be smelt across all of the sleeping quarters. Despite the lack of ventilation, the rooms were always freezing and dark - the gas lighting only ever half illuminated the immediate area. It didn’t bother Brian any more. He didn’t have that privilege. 

His room had the least damp, he was family though. There was just a bed and a chair, a warmer coat hung on it. He’d worn the coat while sleeping so often it was as thread-bare as the rest of the fabric in the room. Next door he could hear Freddie making the bed, the creaks and thumps of the mattress moving on the rusty frame. Looks like he’d be next to the creature.

In an odd way, Brian hoped it was sentient. There was a grate between their rooms, he could perhaps talk, the creature was as much his as it was his father’s. He wanted to make friends with his creature. His monster.

His monster.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, thank you so much for reading this far, as ever folks, all comments and kudos are much appreciated and any questions and asks can be done either here or through my tumblr.
> 
> Love you to Pluto and back.

“Do you see the eyes, Deacon? A masterpiece really,” Dr. Michael said, holding a candle up to the creature's face, “Human eyes with artificial irises. Gives them a beautiful blue sheen. Freddie really paints so prettily for one so dull.”

“Is it male or female?” John frowned, standing at a distance from it - he didn’t care much for nice colours. It looked like a woman; long blond hair and effeminate features - he’d definitely taken womens’ bodies in for the project, but it was hard to tell, in the end it was just whatever was needed that was used. Didn’t matter where it came from.

“Male, if it can be defined. All the substantial organs came from males - they might need replacing, Brian’s were weak and he was one of the living ones.” The doctor replied casually, setting the candle on the table. He took the creature’s hand in his own, a touch of remorse in his face, “We can’t call him creature all the time, not if we’re to take him into the public.”

“Why would we do that? He- it doesn’t know anything about society. It’s a danger.” John frowned, watching the ‘man’ closely; the thing seemed confused, either senile or like a child - he couldn’t tell, “If people find out what you’ve done they’ll hang us all.”

“What we’ve done, Deacon, I have brought life: you have brought death.” Michael corrected, turning to the creature, “Your name is now Roger. It is the name of the last person to own that brain, frozen for fifty years, now again alive. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.” Roger, as he was now, rasped, nodding a little. He still didn’t understand, the context muddled and distant even if the words were comprehensive. 

It was now early morning, he had a little more mobility: he could move his arms a little and his feet; his eyes were now in focus and his voice was working. He’d been jabbed and zapped and examined thoroughly, making sure that he was ‘complete’. That’s what Urquart had called it when he summoned Deacon to help maneuver the creature.

Roger wondered what he meant about the frozen brain, about everything actually. He could see on his bare torso a scar, a long straight line that went from the nape of his neck to level with his hips, various lines travelling across it, intersecting it like a tally - it made Roger wonder what was being counted, who was being counted. The scar looked fresh in places, others seemed to have recently healed and scabbed, some bits looked like a wound on top of an old one: but as he shivered in the cold it didn’t hurt,he didn’t feel them.

“Are you cold?” Dr. Urquart asked, looking almost happy, “That’s good. See, Deacon, it feels.”

“What are you planning for it? Just have it be a human being?”

“I plan to study him, have him be perfect,” Michael replied, touching Roger’s face in a forceful caress, “My design, my perfect human. He shall be my companion. John; carry him down to his room, Brian should’ve set it out for him.”

***

Freddie watched over Brian silently, not wanting to disturb him. He couldn’t tell if he was sleeping or not, it was impossible to tell now. His breathing was hard, but it had been getting consistently worse, he couldn’t get any fresh air. Freddie had cut back on smoking; the taller man had enough problems without his lungs deteriorating too.

He double checked to make sure Brian had his cane with him, he didn’t need a fall either. The master of the house wouldn’t tolerate him if he outgrew his purpose so suddenly.

There were footsteps leading down towards them heavily, kicking the door of the next cell: John. 

Freddie hoped it wouldn’t wake Brian up if he was sleeping. Not that their household body snatcher would care. John hadn’t cared for a good few months, not since that day.

“John, keep it down,” Freddie whispered harshly, turning into the neighbouring room. He hadn’t been expecting the creature - the monster - to be there so quickly. Or for it to look so human. More human than he’d seen John look in years. The servant had expected the monster to look like one, but he looked like a child terrified of the dark.

“Is it hurt? John, did he hurt the poor thing?”

“It’s hardly a poor thing, Fred,” John scoffed, putting Roger onto the bed, walking away dismissively, “I thought the dog’s body was dealing with it.”

“Get out, John. Now.” Freddie gave him a stoney look. Some days he couldn’t bear to be in the same house as John, it made it harder for him when John was nice (as rare as it was).

Slowly he approached the monster, now he saw it, it didn’t look how he’d imagined at all. Naked and shaking and wide eyed on the bed, looking small and grubby and lost. His injuries made him look worse. Freddie scanned his eyes over Roger’s head, his hair parted at the back showing another line of stitches, right down his spine. Just how many people was this poor sod made out of?

“I-I’m Freddie… I work here,” he said slowly, hoping it would understand, hoping it wouldn’t lash out, “Do you mind if I get closer?”

Roger studied him for a moment, seeing a kind smile for the first time since, well ever. He noticed the smile was toothier than he expected, some predetermined instinct telling him this was something he’d had experience of. Some before.

Nodding, he tried again to piece everything together.

He knew his name - it wasn’t his, presumably the memories and thoughts weren’t either.

He knew Doctor Michael Urquart was his master, that John worked for him and caused death, that Brian was his son, and that Freddie lived here too.

He knew he was a monster. Roger could see that much in John’s eyes; he was wrong, something unnatural and disturbing, even kind Freddie seemed scared of what he could do, approaching slowly.

“Let’s get you all cleaned up and into some clothes,” Freddie told him, with more confidence in his voice. Part of him didn’t want to care, his heart already ached when he saw Brian fumbling about with basic tasks, asking what was around him that he’d not be able to see or giving everything to the mad scientist in hopes of getting some affection. It was breaking him to see Brian wither away so willingly - he didn’t want to see it happen to another, human or otherwise.

But part of him knew he’d be just like John if he didn’t. “Would you like something to eat too? I’ll fetch you some water.”

“Thank you,” Roger told him quietly, vaguely mimicking the smile in return. “My name is Roger.”

“Alright, darling,” Freddie nodded, relieved there was something going on in the creature's head - other than those eyes. He could never look at those eyes. “I’m just going to get you some things, Roger, I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t add ‘don’t go anywhere’, it’s not like any of them could.

He passed Brian’s door again, the corkscrew haired man hadn’t so much as moved. Perhaps he had died, Freddie considered, slipped away peacefully into the night, not hurting anymore.

Perhaps it was for the best if he did. Either way he didn’t check.

Freddie entered the kitchen silently, ignoring John sitting there at the table inanimately. He could get some water boiled, use a rag to get some of the dirt off of Roger, perhaps get some heat into him too. There were some spare clothes in the cupboard too, but he’d really have to ask Urquart to get some money to buy fabric at least. 

“Brian was told to look after the thing,” John told him pointedly, “And it doesn’t need coddling. It’s not one of us.”

“John stop talking. Brian’s not well, Urquart used his blood for the creature again, it’s slowly killing him,” Freddie didn’t turn to look at him, “You know fine well if I don’t stop him he’ll die trying to please that man.”

“Then that’s his decision. Not yours, Freddie, we’ve all given ourselves up to him, Brian just can’t see where the limit is.” His play on words made him smirk, knowing just how much it would boil Freddie’s blood, “He’s basically Urquart’s first monster. Home grown lab rat-”

“Not a monster. Brian is not a monster.” Freddie snapped sharply, glaring daggers at John, “And I don’t think Roger is eith-”

“Oh you’re using its name, hooray!” John cheered, his voice thick with sarcasm and spite, face etched in a deep set frown that had slowly formed since the day he enter the doors to the house. Back then his eyes were warm and inviting, Freddie had loved them, had drawn them repeatedly in his spare time, memorising how the green interwove with the toffee tones and seemed so light and airy and mystical.

That was nearly a decade ago now. He didn’t draw anymore, he didn’t dare after what had happened.

“Look, I don’t care what you call it, it’s a monster. It’s the thing we were told about as children. It’s not human. Even if it tries it’ll never become human.”

“And what are you trying to become, John?” Freddie asked, looking down at him, “What have you become?”

John didn’t answer him, instead he gave one last huff and stalked off. He knew what he’d become. He was a monster. They all were. It was the human condition: to feel so much one becomes the pain itself.

One becomes the monster.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading and all the support. 
> 
> I'd like to add a warning here, this is going to get darker psychologically, potentially more gruesome too - it is a horror story after all. I hope this doesn't make anyone uncomfortable.

Brian reached out and grabbed his cane, his first instinct once he woke up.

He hadn’t intended to doze off, but Fred was right, he was worn out. The sleep hadn’t done him much good though, he still felt light-headed, like everything was on fire around him but he couldn’t quite feel it. But he’d get better - his father was going to make him better. ‘I always look after my boy.’ he’d say. Even if the Doctor never looked at him when he said it.

He might be looking now, Brian wouldn’t know.

He slipped out of the room, guided by the voices next door; must be his monster. It wasn’t a dream then, his monster was alive. It was real. It was real. He didn’t know how to feel, so many years of work were over. It was almost as if he’d lost his purpose.

Almost. He’d look after his monster now. Help his father until the end.

Brian leaned on the cane as he walked, needing it more for support than anything else. He knew it was five steps from his bed to the door, one two the left, then two forward to be in the room.

Fred looked up when he heard him, Brian always walked hunched over, but he wasn’t hard to miss; Brian was tall, a curly mop of dark hair on top of his head. Recently it covered his face, but Freddie didn’t ask if he wanted it cut, he simply helped him brush it through every now and then, really anything to try to help him.

“Roger, love, this is Brian,” he gestured, finishing up Roger’s shirt buttons. The creature was now dressed like a proper gent, looking warmer too, washed up and fed, “Brian, this is Roger, the mo- the man Urquart created.”

Brian held his hand out, letting Freddie guide him towards it. “My monster? This is my monster?” The tips of his fingers met warm flesh, a smooth face. His hand travelled over it carefully, delicately tracing soft lips, cheek bones, a nose, the eye lids.

Brian could feel a warm breath on his arm, it had worked - it was alive. He wondered what the eyes looked like. Doctor Urquart had put so much work into them, having Freddie paint the colours especially onto special glass contacts. ‘Modelling them after an angel’s’, or so Michael had said, ‘modelling them after my boy’s’.

It took Roger a second to react, he couldn’t see the man’s face, but he sounded kind. Like Freddie. Unlike Michael. 

He brought his own hand to hold Brian’s, feeling how cold he was, how pale and thin. His stolen instinct told him it wasn’t normal. It was definitely the same man who was with him when he woke up, he hadn’t expected him to be so fraile.

“I’m your monster.” Roger nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, watching the man begin to shake, crumpling in front of him on the floor. Roger looked at Freddie, who didn’t seem that surprised all together, just watching as Brian began to cry, curled up on the floor.

“Bri, darling, it’s okay,” Freddie knelt beside him, wrapping an arm over him and trying to shush him like one would a child. “Just breathe deeply.”

It was bound to happen, Freddie knew that, he knew Brian had involved himself too deeply in this for it not to hurt once it was over. This had been a project for so long. Brian had helped more than Michael would ever admit, doing most of the maths and planning - his head working through the calculations and measurements with ease, not stopping to think about the consequences of what he was helping to make. 

In the end he’d given it his all. Brian would give everything to the Doctor, and he’d given so much into the project. Freddie began to wonder if Brian really knew what was going on - if he knew that he was just being used, that once the planning ran dry he was just a living store.

It had started as a pint of blood, Freddie hadn’t thought much of it when Brian came back a little paler, resting with a book for a while. The older man supposed that’s how medicine progressed, trial and error and experimenting with what’s at hand. Brian giving up a little blood wasn’t even that bad, but all in the name of science, right? 

That thought turned sour quickly. Freddie had found Brian at the bottom of the stairs a few years ago, arm twisted at an awkward angle and struggling for breath. He’d collapsed after giving too much blood. Urquart had taken bone marrow too; why stop with such a willing participant?

It was just for testing, not even an important part of it, but it became clear that day just how much the ‘kind’ doctor loved his ward.

And it became painfully clear just how much Brian would give to make the old man happy.

“You’re the Doctor’s son, right?” Roger’s question brought Freddie out of his thoughts. Brian had stopped sobbing now; just sitting on the floor still holding Roger’s hand tightly. Bright red blood dripping down his cheeks instead of tears.

“He is, yeah. Foster son at least.” Freddie said for him, ignoring the grotesque he saw - a habit he’d become accustomed to.

Brian still didn’t look up, wiping his cheeks (he didn’t know if he was bleeding or not, but he could guess). “...He took me in... looks after me… Y-you’re... you’re Roger?”

“I am. Master gave me that name,” Roger nodded, somehow he’d ended up holding Brian’s walking cane too. It was a strange object, it looked old; but the paint work was unscratched. Like it had been brought into purpose again recently. Curiouser still was the rounded lump of cork at the bottom of it - a nail securing it all which made the sound he’d heard first. The gentle tip-tap that stalked the tall man’s footsteps.

“I want to be human.” Roger continued, his voice softer now he had better control of it. The word monster made him feel sick. He wasn’t a monster. He didn’t feel like he was. He felt human. But it was all in the eye of the beholder. And no one met his eyes.

“Does he look human? Freddie?” Brian’s head turned slightly, “He should do, right? He’s got blood and bones and everything.”

“Yes, Roger looks human.” Freddie told him, shifting back to sit Brian on the bed next to Roger, “His soul is human too. It’s what matters.”

Roger looked closely at Brian now he could see his face, he was quite handsome, even through how peaky he looked. He hoped perhaps to meet his eyes, see kind eyes look at him.

It wouldn’t happen, Roger realised, his stomach dropping, Brian wouldn’t look at him.

There were no eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, 
> 
> Sorry for the delay in writing, hope you enjoy this short chapter with some more John perspective!
> 
> As always folks, I live off comments and kudos (thank you to those that have already done so)
> 
> Love xx

John still hadn’t done any of the atrocities, which meant it was a nice dream for now.

Or the pills were stronger than he thought.

It wasn’t exactly a dream, not really, it was more of a memory - a collection of them, back to when he was commissioned as a driver for some unheard of Doctor near the city. Just eighteen years old, no father to inherit a trade from; no money for an apprenticeship or further education - he’d taught himself the cab business through sheer luck and skill.

Of course both luck and skill are functions of money, but some poaching on the side was hardly uncommon, and he had a steady hand for it - he could take out a deer at sixty yards in a single shot, it would then be neatly skinned and cut to be sold. The cash would pad out his business - he was going to work in London. That’s what he’d told himself, promised himself.

He would take any work available and work his way up, he could give his mum a nice place to spend her old age. He’d fall in love there too, London was a big city - he would fall instantly in love and get married and have a family, they’d live in a nice house too: nothing like how he grew up.

He just needed that first step in his plan.

John had jumped at the opportunity to work for some recluse doctor, what was the danger in carrying medicine bottles? The man didn’t even seem to have patients, so he wasn’t near anyone sick. It was perfect.

John entered the house on a sunny mid-July day, sitting on the driver’s seat of the carriage looking at the horses in the sweltering heat, sighing in relief to be allowed to escape the sun’s rays into the home. He didn’t make much of it, the house itself, it was a little worn down and could do with a lick of paint, but it was his accommodation and home for the foreseeable future.

He had always thought Freddie looked too strong to be just a servant, even if he was sleight. John immediately liked Freddie in that way - the older man was a strange enigma that wanted to be solved. He was very welcoming, as was Brian who appeared to stalk around the corridors mumbling and writing down numbers.

John was given the room closest to the stairs, it had the most furniture in it, and he was always allowed to go and buy himself tobacco, it seemed a bit weird he’d have to ask one of the others to relay the message to his employer, but he didn’t care. nIt was a job. It would be a while before the infamous Doctor Urquart would make his appearance.

He desperately wanted his dream not to go to that first meeting - he wanted to stay in those early days, the summer that seemed to go on forever, playfully bickering with Brian about anything and everything, watching the horses, Freddie…

He wanted his dream to stay on Freddie, on the momentary collision of fingers at door handles, on the secret looks and smiles they had, or the clandestine candle lit kisses they shared...

But no one can control their own minds.

Onwards his dream goes, to the first encounter with Michael.

Brian was ill apparently, he didn’t look it, but the Doctor had insisted something had to be done. He didn’t remember the tall man complaining of anything, he looked well enough. But Brian had told him how sure his ‘father’ was that there was a problem that needed immediate action.

John believed it, he didn’t know any better - none of them did. He first met Urquart after he’d supposedly ‘fixed’ Brian. His job had been to deliver formaldehyde (he remembered wondering what it would be used for, it was a preservative rather than a medicine) from the city depot to the lab in the house. Urquart had casually explained how the boy had something wrong with one of his kidneys, but it was fine now, he was taking the chance to experiment.

John hadn’t known at the time what that meant, or the reality behind it, but he knew that day on, that Michael would do anything to get what he wanted.

Things got slowly worse, the dream recalled him back to the day he finally learnt about the creature; the grotesque body that lay frozen in a chemical solution, the body parts that had been collected to replace the old ones. The list of things that were missing and would be needed.

‘You see, Deacon,’ Michael had said, ‘Brian doesn’t have much more to give that wouldn’t kill him, and it would be such a shame to lose a smart volunteer like that… I wonder if you would be particularly adverse to some Burke and Hunt larks? I promise not to tell if you don’t… Especially about all the illegal game shooting.”

John shivered in his sleep, it was said so jovially - but the memory was dark, he wanted so much to wake up; he wanted to have not needed the sleeping pills in the first place.

Maybe his brain listened, the rest was faster, all the memories he had collected in the dreadful place careered through his head like a steam train. The bodies, then the killings, Freddie wouldn’t meet his eye, more and more things were needed as the experiment grew. Soon it was machine parts - it was going to be alive, a would-be man, a godless soulless monster created against all nature, John was terrified of what it could be if it worked.

He woke up with a start despite knowing he was leaving sleep behind. He’d have to ask Urquart to adjust the dose on the pills. John knew he was lucky, Urquart liked him. He wasn’t fond of Fred; ‘I don’t trust anyone darker than milk’ was his usual response. The Doctor especially seemed to dislike Brian, but in a twisted way he let Brian love him. John didn’t know exactly how Brian ended up here, but he knew Brian was the earliest of the monsters - so willing to follow orders and sell his soul for kind words.

***

Roger felt sick, it had been a good hour now and he hadn’t stopped staring at Brian. Staring at him through his own eyes, crying someone else’s tears while all they could do was cry blood - blood that flowed through his veins too.

He felt Freddie rub his back, the shorter man seemingly knew, “Urquart took what he wanted. That’s the truth of it, Roger, Urquart always takes control.”

“Father was so desperate for them, Freddie, I couldn’t say no,” Brian shook his head, deep down something hurt knowing it wasn’t right, “Father had to make you just right, my dear monster, he had to make you perfect. I could never say no to that, even if I wanted to.”

“So I’m just a collection of horrors?” Roger asked. He was still holding Brian’s hands, trying to warm them in his. He felt some duty to look after him, but also just to keep him away from the tyrant upstairs.

“You’re a collection of souls, and pieces of souls and specks of love from people,” Brian corrected him, “Like finding the sweet nothings sent in writing between two lovers you’ve never met. You mean so much, you just haven’t found out how yet.”


	5. Chapter 5

Brian wasn’t well again.

It had been a few months, the winter had come and gone and now the flowers grew for Roger to look at when Doctor Urquhart allowed, which was more often that he’d have thought.

Roger had become a pet dog to him, something to be smiled at and petted, complimented simply and given treats if he was good or helped out. Their keeper was never angry or harsh with him, a painful contrast to how he was with the others, John strictly under his thumb, Brian withering faster than ever, Freddie stretching too far to hold it all together, wearing thin and ready to snap.

It all seemed to be close to boiling over.

Roger was sitting on the side of Brian’s bed, watching the poor soul suffer through another fevered nightmare, he’d been able to beg for some medicine, but it wasn’t doing anything now. Freddie had told him to just stay by his side, make sure Brian was comfortable and not alone - there was no doubt in his mind Brian would die soon.

“Hey, Bri, shh,” Roger pressed the rag more into his forehead. It was awful, he thought, watching someone not have the energy to even be afraid, too far gone to be soothed, no chance of getting better. On his good days Roger loved him, rather loved him more. There was more to him, and slowly learning about the kindness and soul Brian had made it so much harder to leave him when Urquhart called.

Then again, Urquhart barely said no to him, his creation. ‘His boy’. Roger hated it, hated him. There was nothing he could do wrong, no reaction or angry flippant comment that wasn’t fascinating to the scientist.

Freddie seemed to get the bulk of the anger now. If Roger had taken over from Brian as assistant, Freddie had certainly taken over as punch bag, taking a fair few smacks and even more insults in the months that followed Roger arriving.

But that wasn’t what hurt him the most. No, that accolade went straight to John, who so far had yet to do anything other than smoke and ignore the situation, following orders as if they were undeniable, as if Brian wasn’t dying down there, the others likely trapped until they died too.

“You’re mushing the food up, cutting it so much.” John’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, making him look at the vegetables he’d practically ruined with the knife. 

“Does it matter?” Freddie shrugged, “It’s just going to Urquhart. He can choke for all I care.”

“I thought you did care, I thought you didn’t like me for not caring.” John said, a crispness to his voice that implied he was trying to get a reaction, “I thought you were the human one of us all.”

“Go to hell.” Freddie gritted his teeth, looking away from him, “I care for Brian and Roger, you too once upon a time.”

“But not now?”

“Not since you haven’t got a heart.”

“What?” John scoffed, “And that creature does? It’s not his own by any means. And you didn’t care when Brian was getting torn to pieces to supply what was necessary, if he dies that’s on you for not stoppi-”

“How dare you.” Freddie spun on his heel, knife still in his hand, “How fucking dare you? We thought he was getting help, you did too. You told me that.”

“God you’re idiotic.” John sat back, “He was always going to use us, its the creature that’s important, we’re just slaves until we stop being useful. Then we’re parts.”

Freddie shook his head, turning back to his cooking, no need to sink to his level anymore. How could he have ever loved him? Why did he still?

John kept quiet a few moments longer, getting up to leave, getting the pipe back out of his pocket-

“We’re human.” Freddie told him quietly, “John we love and hurt and grow and wither. But we are human. Humans care… we care.”

“That thing isn’t human. Caring doesn’t define anyone.” John told him, giving him one last look before leaving.

Freddie sighed, wiping his eye, “...It should.”

***  
“Boy,” Urquhart had Roger upstairs, talking him through his latest idea for fixing the scars across his chest, using swaiths of flesh to bind him together or some such horror. Roger had stopped listening a while back, just nodding. “Boy, come with me.”

Roger looked up then, following the doctor to the end of the room and through a floor hatch into an outhouse type thing. He’d never been there, certainly the others hadn’t mentioned it. The room was freezing, more so than the outside was, even on a cold day like it had been. The walls were dark and just as cold to the touch, Roger could see his breath in the strange white light that emitted from a large coffin shaped box at the heart of the center of the chamber.

“What is this?”

“You were here before,” Urquart opened the coffin, “Lying dormant for years… two decades before I could fix you.”

“I thought I was built of stray parts,” Roger frowned, peering into the box, mostly empty except for a few organs, not human ones luckily,

“The bulk of you is from my son… you are therefore my boy,” Michael smiled as if it were obvious, “The cryogen bed kept you safe, until I could cure you, until I could fix all that was broken and make you whole again. My darling boy.”

Roger stepped back, the random flashes of memory, the clothes and possessions he’d been given made sense now. He felt sick, what was he other than a stuffed animal, a reflection of a different person with only a half life, something not made to be its own thing, rather a creation to mimic another.

“I am not your boy.”


	6. Chapter 6

Brian was meant to be helping Freddie that afternoon, scrubbing at the fire grates to get the grim off of them, feeling for the dirt with his fingers. Freddie would stop him every half hour or so, change the rag and add more bleach - complete silence otherwise. He was still struggling to breath, propped up against the cold wall trying to be useful. He doubted it was helping, but just having someone around was good now, he’d probably fall back into the fever dream soon.

Freddie could see John outside, every now and then, rifle aimed up at the sky, trying to collect game for dinner - for the Doctor and Roger’s dinner. If they were lucky they’d be able to make up a broth from the bones, something to keep them warm that night. Something that might keep Brian alive a few more days.

He almost didn’t want to give it to him, what was the point in extending the misery? He wasn’t even sure Brian wanted to be alive anymore… he’d been taught it wasn’t human to kill, but was this the alternative? He looked away from the window from where he was cleaning, back to Brian: all shrivelled up and pale, coughing up blood and wheezing, running a mangled cloth over the same bit of grate over and over…

Maybe it’d be best if he went in the night, if the fever got too much and he just faded. Freddie certainly wasn’t going to starve him his last few hours, he didn’t care if he himself went hungry if only to make Brian a bit more comfortable while he could.

What would happen then? After they died. Would the Doctor use them, cut them into bits to repair Roger with when he broke? Would they be allowed to bury Brian? He almost certainly had no use left, no spare parts that wouldn’t be dying. Freddie sighed, going to change the cloth for him again - he’d try to dig him a plot by the trees he liked to sit against, If John could help him they might get it deep enough. Get some pretty flowers too, a nice change in the landscape.

“Brian, here,” He pressed the cloth back into his hand,moving the grate slightly so he’d clean a different corner of it. Maybe he’d ask Roger, the blond had a soft spot for Brian, and Roger could ask the Doctor - they might be able to get a small wooden cross for him. “Do you want to go back to bed, rest a while long-”

“No, I’ve been in bed for days, master won’t be happy,” Brian shook his head, “I’ve got my cane, I’ve got you and Rog. I can help.”

“Alright,” Freddie gave his shoulder a squeeze, “You just say if you need anyth-”

They both turned to look up when the scream was heard, a high pitched blood curdleing scream that resonated off of the walls.

“Roger.” Freddie raced out of the room. They’d left him with the scientist, assuming he’d be safe as the favourite - God knows what else he’d just let happen with no attempt to stop it.

He ran up the stairs, taking them in twos as he headed towards the laboratory. The door was still open, and the sight he saw in front of him was one he’d never expected to see.

Roger was back on the table he had begun on, only a few months previous, the volts once again flying through the air towards the metal strap pinned tightly to his head.

The cruel doctor turning the dial up higher.

*** 

Brian pulled himself upright, the grate clanging loudly on the floor. His hands patted around for his cane, panicked movements as the screams upstairs got worse. He didn’t really know where he got the energy, at least for him, as he managed to find the cane and drag himself almost walking towards the stairs.

He hauled his frame up each one, feeling the cold stone scrape his hands and he got closer to the top - trying to speed up when the screaming had stopped, heart missing a beat; was Roger unconscious? Was he dead?

The deep crackling that rumbled through the ground as he came to the landing confused him - it was like the whip of thunder had become eternal and damning. “Roger?” He had reached the door, now crawling, the handle of the cane only a few inches in front of him. “Freddie?”

“Stupid boy damaged my machine,” He heard Urquhart mutter to himself, recognising the different voices of the man. Brian stuck to the wall on the side he knew the machines were, maybe he could try to help, try to calm him down by helping.

“Doc-” His hand came across something damp, a thick sort of liquid that came with a recognisable metallic smell. Lifeless on the floor just next to it, on top of it really, was a body. One he knew. “Freddie? Fred?”

Brian shook his shoulders, “Urquhart! Please, sir, he must’ve fallen,” Brian called out into the room, “help him.” 

“Brian, run,” Roger’s voice was quiet and strained, “Brian get out of here-”

“Oh so brave, you three. Trying to save each other,” Urquhart laughed, fingers tracing Roger’s cheek, “Stay where you are, I have to fix my boy."

"Roger?" Brian frowned, it didn't seem like he was fixing anything, "You're hurting him… Freddie…"

"God you're ignorant. The Paki tried to destroy the machine, I need it working, to complete the creature's life." There was an explosion above him, Brian propped himself up with his cane, "His brain is not yet working."

"But he talks and thinks, master," Brian shook his head, "You're going to kill him."

"He's not my son, he is not complete," Urquhart shifted towards the machine again, kicking Brian aside, "Get out, useless boy."

"Master..? I don't…" Brian's mind was firing a million beats a second. Urquhart was hurting them, he was hurting Roger.

"You don't anything, you've outlived your use," Urquhart growled, something on his machine not working. Even now he was only a niggle compared to the problem, "Stupid boy."

Brian tightened his grip on the cane, straightening up his posture as much as he could. Urquhart had hurt Roger, he might well have killed Freddie, he'd been keeping the strings pulled for years, he could see that now. 

His cane swung on the floor, knocking info cables and bits, walking slowly towards the doctor with what little strength he had.

"Where are you going? I told you to leave, blind fool," Urquhart glanced at his thin frame making its way towards him, “You can’t help, there’s not even any use for your body now.”

“You’re going to hurt him, my Roger,” Brian spat, cane finally finding Urquhart’s boot, locating him, “You took my eyes, but I can see it all now.”

“What are you talking about? Stupid child,” Urquhart scoffed, “You were necessary, if eyes stayed fresh in a corpse you wouldn’t have bee-”

Brian smacked him with the cane, hitting his head hard. The doctor’s body hit the floor, limps weakly trying to cushion the fall. Roger could see the blood start to appear on the back of his head as the old man groaned. Then Brian struck the walking cane against his head again and again.

And again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I've finally gotten round to updating this, hopefully I'll have it finished off soon. All asks or whatever head over to my tumblr, hope you've all enjoyed reading!


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